Constantine : Aftermath
by Jong Constantine
Summary: Heaven Took Him. Hell Lost Him. Earth Used Him... Now it's my turn.
1. Crossed Over

Flames erupted from every corner and crevice, flames strong enough to burn out Man into a cinder in less time than he could blink. Even so, a shadowed figure strolled along the lanes of infernal heat with a casualness impossible for anyone who happened to land here… Anyone except him. On and on he walked, past volcanic mountains reaching thousands of miles into the air, and trenches deep enough which would surely reach this world's core. And all this time, he felt no fear nor terror nor fright. After all, why would he? This was after all… His home.

Lucifer kept on with his current pace, never stopping even if there was an obstacle in his way. But of course, why would he need stop? He could simply levitate over any bothersome hole – no matter how deep – in his way or quench any fires which happened to try and smolder him to ashes. Sometimes he considered maybe he should be rid of all these minor annoyances once and for all from his abode. But not long after, he quickly changed his mind on that particular thought.

How could his residence still be called Hell if it was pleasantly peaceful?

Peace. Lucifer shuddered in spite of himself. He had always wondered why Men would desire for a peace-filled life – how the carnage and bloodbaths of wars was going to achieve their desired peace in the first place was beyond even him, but then again, Men were never intelligent nor rational creatures; not when compared to himself, in any case. Peace itself was so repetitive, so boring… So.. Peaceful! He knew this from experience, and it was not an experience he would very much like to repeat. He could not tolerate tranquility! He could not abide by harmony! There must be chaos in the world, in all of the worlds! And he would have made it so if it were not for his brother's restrictions; normally warnings would not have kept him away, but his brother had made sure Lucifer could not cross over. But someday, he would find a way.

And that day seemed tremendously close. Lucifer could almost taste victory… if it were not an intangible item, that is.

He spotted his destination over the horizon, and the sight so familiar to him it made him smile a grin to split his face in two; almost fondly. It was a huge black spire – but maybe even black was not the right word to describe it; it just seemed to suck in all the light and obliterated it from existence – stretching miles across the otherwise barren landscapes of Hell and was oval in shape. A few irregularities spawned from the walls of the structure, oddly shiny polished stabs of what could or could not be metal, and from not few of them hung mutilated corpses with signs of violence obviously committed after their deaths.

"The Gallery of the Damned," at a whisper barely audible to even himself. "And it is here, brother, where my triumph over your reign will begin…" This time his grin became malevolent, but that was innocent compared to the horrid evil gleaming in his eyes.

As he kept on his slow pace towards the structure, things started to move within his sight. Defiled things, horrid creatures, the breed of the Damned; his children. Daddy's home, he thought dryly. While he was caught up in his musings, a Scavenger Soldier – possibly the dumbest of his creations – crawled onto a boulder – or it might have been the wreckage of a car – and snarled at him. I see you didn't miss me too much.

The closer he got to the Gallery, the more of the Soldiers showed up and none too happy to see him either. If they were not pacing around threateningly, they were growling and scowling. But go ahead and let them. Those who assaulted him would very soon discover their mistakes through an eternity's suffering. Lucifer chuckled inwardly at the idea.

His mirth quickly subsided as he finally noticed something odd about the skies of Hell. It wasn't the color, as the skies were still in the ominous shades of red and black with giant streaks of lightning and thunder pounding the ground. But something different… and then it hit him so clearly he was surprised he hadn't had found out sooner. There was a disruption in the chaotic patterns. There are patterns in even chaos.. but when the patterns have been tampered with... down here… It means…

"Someone crossed over!" He magnified the yell with his divine talents, "Who?" The last word was so thundering, it roared across the plains of the Damned and deafened all who heard. Suddenly Lucifer's form was no longer shrouded in shadow and perpetual darkness, it suddenly lifted and left a robe of the purest white on him. Whatever calmness possessed his face now no longer seemed to have hold either. His expression was twisted in anger, scorn and the purest of hate. "Who!"

The lightning from the skies did not stop pounding the land, if anything it became that much fiercer. But now, no longer did chaos dictate their moments; they responded to the pace of Lucifer's steps and with each step did thunder tear the ground apart into large clouds of debris.

But beside Lucifer's rage, the onslaught of the skies could be considered harmless, trivial.

As he approached the tainted Gallery of the Damned, he kept speculating in his head what punishment would be dire enough for disobeying his orders…


	2. Daylight Demons

"The name's Constantine, John Constantine," the voice of an aged and gruff man said. His tone indicated he was clearly irritated, "And I do not smoke! Not anymore, at least." He lifted the top of a bottle of liquor to his mouth and took huge mouthfuls.

The officer which had routed him rolled her eyes in exasperation and put her hands on her hip, which somehow made her look that much more serious. "Sir, this has nothing to do with you smoking," She reached into her jean pockets to pull out a tiny notepad. "You don't get fined for smoking… unless the shortening of one's own life counts. You might say it's divine retribution," an amused giggle ended her sentence and she used one of her hands to cover up her mouth.

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. Really, laughing at your own jokes? That's lame. He came close to sighing before he caught himself. "Officer, do you mind?" That brought the stupid bugger back to reality at least. "I'm in a hurry, sort of. But really now that's none of your business," And that's when he noticed the officer's eyebrows were drawn down dangerously low. That was never a good sign with women. Ever.

"Can't let you go just yet, sir. There's a fine nowadays for people caught drinking alcohol more than the allowed volume," She tilted her head to glance past John. "And littering." She clicked the ball pen in her hand and proceeded to jot down some scribbling of what John wasn't even sure was human language – maybe a form of Arabic. "There you go," and she shoved the paper in his direction. "Just bring this fine to the nearest station as soon as possible and they'll tell you what you have to do."

Grabbing the thing from her hands, he roughly thrust the piece of paper into his pockets muttering, "This isn't my first time missing a payment… and it definitely won't be my last." The idiot actually eyed him askance and asked, "You said something, sir?" Her eyebrows might have been drawn down before but now were as high as they would go.

Turning away without even a reply of some kind, John strolled down the pavement back on his original journey while shaking his head pityingly. Or maybe mockingly; he could never really differentiate even his own feelings.

John Constantine was a man well into his fifties and had his share of gray hairs but there was an aura about him which radiated arcane knowledge and well-deserved command. Even in rags, he could probably dominate a room filled with people who had never even seen or heard of him. However, his physical appearance was something else. His face was almost always set in a neutral expression even if it was plagued with wrinkles. It was angled too, never a smooth edge to be seen. The rest of his body wasn't clear as it was covered in his favorite pieces of clothing; a shirt, a tie, a pair of trousers and his trench coat.

He felt a hand grab his shoulders from behind, pulling him back, and out of instinct he reached inside his coat to slip on his Knuckle Dusters. _What the Hell?_ He spun around ready to connect his fist with his attacker's whatever. And stopped right away when John noticed it wasn't a Half-Breed. It was…

* * *

He twisted John's lunging arm so he would stop and then with the casualness of someone used to doing a routine task, pulled the Knuckle Dusters off of his hand and let it fall to the pavement with a _thump_. He could see John's eyes were as wide with surprise and no reason he shouldn't be. 

They stared at each other for a long time, gaze meeting gaze, until John finally spoke up. "Geez, kid. Do you think you could let go of a guy's arm? What you're doing is not exactly very comfortable, you know." He lightly yanked on his arm once more to try to tug it free. A playful grin bloomed on the kid's face and he gave one last pull – which produced a light winch from John – before letting go. "Huh, no manners to the elderly. I'm going to have to teach you that someday."

Ben cocked one of his eyebrows up at that comment. "A good lesson. I guess you would know best about respect, huh, John?" He meant that as sarcasm. And John noticed because his stance suddenly stiffened and his hands were raised halfway defensively. Ben pretended not to see. "So what was with the cop back there? You got yourself into some sort of trouble again, no doubt. Alcohol?" He didn't need to see his nod before knowing. _If he's not drinking, he's smacking the wits outta a guy he thinks is a Half-Breed_, he thought ruefully. _Well, better the first than the latter._

"So what're you doing out here, kid?" Oh, how that voice dripped with synthetic innocence and curiosity. It made Ben go as far as to cringe.

"Oh, nothing much. Got a little worried about you. So I decided what the Hell, I'd come out and see if you've gotten yourself in any trouble," All throughout his reply, John was shaking his head. Strangely though, he seemed to make himself seem understanding even while doing it. Then the head shaking stopped and John placed his hand on Ben's shoulder. _Oh crap, he knows_.

"She left?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"To her folks."

"She coming back soon?"

"Didn't tell me."

"Oh okay then," Here was the part he was going to cringe again. "It was nice of you to come out all the way here to check up on me," Ben barely suppressed it in time and even then it took a tremendous effort on his part.

_Well, it could've been worse_, he reminded himself. But it didn't do much good. "Of course, John. Don't mention it." He had started his pace before he finished his sentence; to where? No damned clue, but to Hell if he was going to stay there and let John continue with his fun. After a few steps, he saw Constantine stroll up beside him. _I knew I should've walked faster._

Silence, like a thick fog, covered them both as they walked down the busy streets of Los Angeles – the City of Angels. Past huge, towering buildings reflected in the Sun by the glass and wide concrete halls painted and decorated with beautiful patterns and colors, easing the eyes of all who looked upon it. And then there was the bad part. Like any big city, LA was teeming with life; not plants of green or flowers of splendor. Oh, no. Life as in the humongous crowds of people; those on the pavements jostling their way through the overwhelming mass of organics to make their way through, or the people in their cars honking away at the ones in front of them like the ones in front of them are doing the same. A man could easily get trampled on in all this chaos and not surprisingly, they do.

Still, Ben and John fought against the tide of humans like they have had practice everyday; which they have. Nudging past a fellow with the help of shoulders here, or a kick in the knees because a bastard won't move there, and pretty soon, those two found themselves in front of their _very_ humble home. Well actually it was John's, but since Ben stayed over every other day, it could be considered his as well.

20 Lanes Bowling Alley. _As close to a home as any place will ever get to be_. It wasn't the fanciest block in town, but it served its purposes well. Ben noticed dried paint peeling off the walls on the south side and made a mental note to fix that; or maybe he would make John do it for him again. _Hehe, I think I'll go with the John option._ "Hey John. You should spruce up the place sometime. It's looking pretty beat down," Gesturing with his finger at the aforementioned spot, he added, "Like that place over there. John? Goddamn it, are you even listening to me?" Ben spun his head around and got one Hell of a shock.

"Little help here, kid?" John managed to gasp out between each punch he was driving into the mob of demonic beings. After connecting his fist with the last Scavenger's jaw – of which it dissipated into spectral dust – he planted his hands on his legs and panted tiredly. After a few moments of recuperation, he straightened up again and said, "Well? What the Hell are you waiting for? There could be more coming!"

The Almighty Lord must have been favoring John's words today because as soon as it left his mouth, a small legion of demons appeared – _small_ because a normal legion would number about a hundred.

Shaking himself from his startled state, Ben reached under his belt desperately and clutched onto the first thing he felt. Pulling it away from his body convulsively, he aimed it at the head of the nearest Soldier and pulled the trigger, seeing the targeted demon flinch away. Only to realize there wasn't any ammo left In the clip of his Demon's Bane. "Oh shit…" The Soldier Demon grinned malevolently at him. At the edge of Ben's sight, he saw the Damned Soldier raise an arm, no doubt to strike him down. _To Hell if I'm going to let you do that!_ Ben made his own arm dive under the belt again, but this time his mind knew exactly what he was looking for.

"C'mon, where is it!" The Soldier seemed amused at Ben's efforts at offense – good, it didn't think I was a threat – and continued, slowly, raising his defiled arm higher and higher, way above his head. _Uh oh, I'm screwed_, Ben figured, but at the final moment he touched what he was searching for. Triumph shone in his eyes. The Soldier noticed this because his face contorted into rage and he slammed his arm down full force.

With one last yell, Ben popped the cork of the bottle open, "S'long, asshole!" The last thing he could see was fear and pain searing away the anger from the demon's face.. and then… flashing light blinded his vision and he collapsed on the ground, gripping the concrete slabs of the pavement. "I did it.. John. I did it… John. John?" Unconsciousness crept into his thoughts and blackened everything, "My head…" Twilight beckoned for him deep inside his mind and swallowed him whole. The last thing that crossed in his head was…

_Demons in daylight?…_ Right before Ben passed out completely, another realization came and made all the more worse because he hadn't had thought of it earlier : What happened to all the people?


End file.
